


Small Eternities

by greenest_kite



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26766385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenest_kite/pseuds/greenest_kite
Summary: At three fifty four, Sherlock had been pacing around the flat, intermittently pulling out the package currently residing inside his jacket. He'd also been debating the merits of actually giving it to John versus pretending it had never existed in the first place.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 84





	Small Eternities

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on the prompt 'A scarf, a present wrapped very poorly, a kiss'. 
> 
> This is my first time sharing my writing with an audience and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Edit 28/01/21: I fixed up some formatting stuff and also re-conjugated a couple verbs that were driving me nuts. Other than that nothings changed.

He was running late.

He had told John to meet him at Angelo's for dinner at five. 

It was now quarter past seven.

At three fifty four, Sherlock had been pacing around the flat, intermittently pulling out the package currently residing inside his jacket. He'd also been debating the merits of actually giving it to John versus pretending it had never existed in the first place.

He had been going back and forth between the options for the last hour, at least, and getting steadily more nervous about the decision.

Until Lestrade had texted him with a particularly interesting, and distracting case. Sherlock had figured that John was almost always running a little bit late after a shift at the surgery and _it's just a small case, it'll only take an hour. That's plenty of time to make it to Angelo's._

But then the simple murder - or as simple as Sherlock got called in for - turned out to be not so simple. One hour had turned into three hours. The whole time he had been running around London trying to find evidence to prove that tonight's murderer was also responsible for the three supposedly resolved murders from earlier that week. 

And then it was seven when Sherlock had looked at his phone and seen that he was two hours late to his dat- _dinner_ , that he had immediately yelled at Lestrade that he had to go before hopping into the first cab he saw. 

Sherlock first went to Angelo's on the off chance John was still there, only to receive a mildly annoyed look from Angelo himself when he walked in the door.

"He waited for an hour for you to show up."

"Shit," _Ah_ . _That's the reason behind the annoyance_. "I had intended to-"

"Not me you need to tell. I expect you're going to be doing a fair bit of groveling tonight."

_Probably._ "Did he buy anything?"

"No," Angelo went to the kitchen as he talked, "But I've been keeping your order warm in one of my ovens for a while now."

A moment later Angelo came out of the kitchen carrying a bag of take away, "Here you go."

Sherlock was out the door with barely a rushed "Thank you" thrown over his shoulder.

He wasted no time in hailing a cab and directing the cabbie to Baker Street.

While the cabbie was driving, Sherlock's thoughts once again turned to the unassuming parcel. _Would John know what it meant? He is rather good at deducing people's feelings._ And, _if he does deduce its meaning, will his reaction be something I can live with._

Upon arriving at Baker Street, Sherlock was still no closer to figuring out any of the answers to his questions. He raced up to 221B and threw open the door rather dramatically, even for him.

John, seated in his chair with his leg propped up on the other knee and reading the newspaper, didn't so much as flinch at the loud ' _Bang!_ ' the door made when it collided with the wall.

"You're two and a half hours late Sherlock." John didn't look up from his paper.

_No point in denying the obvious_ , "Yes."

"Any particular reason _why_ you're so late?" John's eyebrow twitched.

Sherlock walked past John to deposit the take away bag in the kitchen, "Lestrade texted me about a case, and I was only supposed to be an hour but it was more complicated than it first appeared."

"Right, let me get this straight. You asked me out to dinner for five o'clock. Then, an hour or so before we were supposed to meet you think 'Yes. This is the absolute best time to go help Inspector Lestrade with a case.' Then, you're two and a half hours late to dinner because, big surprise, the case was a wee bit more complicated than you anticipated." He exhaled sharply, "Did I get that right?"

"Erm, well yes," Sherlock reached up to check that the package was still hidden away in his coat. Apparently he would be going with Option 'Give John the Present and Hope Nothing Changes for the Worse' unless he wanted John to stay mad at him for the foreseeable future (in this case, 'foreseeable future' meant two-ish hours). "But, well, I took the case because I wanted to distract myself."

John did not look impressed, "From what."

"I was nervous. About dinner."

" _You_ were _nervous_ about _dinner_? Why? We go out to eat all the time."

_Deep breath_ , "Because," Sherlock pulled the present from the depths of his jacket, "Here."

John seemed to take a moment to assess the proffered item.

Sherlock glanced down at the package in his hand.

It was unevenly wrapped in plain brown paper. Full of creases and worn thin in some places from its journey accompanying Sherlock through London. Not to mention the amount of tape holding the paper together was rather absurd considering the package was roughly the size of a novel.

John glanced between the present and Sherlock's face a couple times, "A gift? For me?" He asked, taking it from Sherlock, "What for?"

"It's, uhm."

John started slowly unraveling the tape holding the wrapping together.

"It's to say 'Thank you' and that I appreciate and care about you deeply." The last bit was rather rushed and Sherlock felt his cheeks go warm. He also had the urge to wipe his hands on his coat or to pick at the seam. An urge he quickly smothered.

"Oh," John was staring at the unwrapped gift. The wrapping forgotten on the floor around him. A long piece of crimson fabric held ever so gently in his hands.

It was identical, save for the colour, to the one Sherlock always wore.

"You don't have to kee-"

"No," John interrupted, "No, I love it." He looked up at Sherlock, eyes full of an unidentifiable emotion, his voice thick with it, "Thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock cleared his throat in a futile attempt at calming his pounding heart, "Here. Let me." 

He gently took the scarf from John's hands and folded it the same way he did every time before he left the flat.

Then, he so carefully draped it around John's neck, and smoothed out any wrinkles in the delicate fabric before letting his hands rest on John's chest.

"Sherlock," John's voice cracked and was infinitely tender as it caressed Sherlock's name.

"John," Sherlock's own voice was rather gravelly with the emotions he felt flying through him.

They stayed like that, breathing gently, Sherlock's hands on John's chest, gazing into each other's eyes for what felt like a small eternity.

Eventually, Sherlock wetted his lips and watched intently as John's eyes flickered down to follow the movement.

"John," Sherlock repeated, "Stop me," before leaning down into John's space until they were a mere breath apart. 

And then closer still, until Sherlock's lips touched upon John's.

And then Sherlock was kissing John Watson's wonderfully soft lips. Pouring out the vortex of emotion swirling inside him and hoping John could feel what Sherlock could not find the words to say.

John froze for a moment, before his breath hitched and then his lips moved against Sherlock's. 

John's lips wove tales of the _devotion_ and _adoration_ and _endearment_ that he felt for him. The strength of it very nearly made Sherlock's knees buckle.

After the passing of another small eternity, John pulled away a fraction of a centimeter so they could breath.

"Never," He said, breathless, "Never stop, Sherlock."

And Sherlock had no choice but to kiss him again, and again, and again.


End file.
